Wounds of the Past
by SarcasticSeraph
Summary: "I have to admit though – part of me has always wanted to rule over a king, at least for a few hours..." Sinbad's conquering of the 41st dungeon; Focalor's dungeon. Or is he the one being conquered? FocalorxSinbad, Yaoi warning.
1. Gazing into the Abyss

_Note - does contain a malexmale pairing (FocalorxSinbad) although I guess its djinnxmale, but close enough. Listed as a"T" as I don't think anything is very explicit here (yet), but more than likely that will change  
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_Big, big thanks to Akumarayne for all the help,as I needed it for this one :p  
_

_Enjoy~  
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**_Wounds of the Past_**

**_Gazing into the Abyss_**

"See! There _are_ ruins down there after all. That means the treasure room is there...right?" Sharrkan enquired tentatively, his voice almost lost on the harsh storms overhead. He was gesturing downwards, to the foot of the mountain and to the shadow cast ravine floor. There he could barely make out the faint, fractured outlines of what seemed to be a large and dark building. Slowly he continued to lead his companions down the narrow and winding path and closer to their goal. The descent was steep, and dangerous, especially considering how little light settled there. "Dungeons sure are long though. I should have guessed that..."

Initially, the fifteen year old had brimmed with almost painful enthusiasm as he journeyed with Sinbad to Focalor's dungeon. Yet once those bitter and tempestuous winds had set in. He had become increasingly fatigued and weary the further they progressed. Sinbad nodded to him, breaking free from where he walked alongside Jafar to catch Sharrkan up on that narrow ledge. He clapped a heavy hand on the young, silver haired swordsman's shoulder before passing him to resume his lead. The new, self-made king knew once he conquered this dungeon, and he would conquer it, it would be the fifth he had claimed thus far.

The descent down from the cold mountains had proved tasking, and more troublesome than Sinbad had hoped. But he had noticed the dungeons had become increasingly difficult, and potentially deadly, with each he took. Something of a grim reality dawned upon him, of just how dangerous his goal was becoming now. And here he was, leading both Jafar and Sharrkan into such a desolate place. There was, however, no turning back now they were there, but then he wouldn't turn back even if he could.

"Yes, those ruins are probably what we're looking for," Jafar replied as he went to catch Sinbad up, struggling to match the older man's significantly longer strides as he did. "But they look more shabby and miserable than most treasure rooms I've seen. This place really is a nightmare..."

Sinbad's amber eyes cast a downwards look at their apparent destination, and nodded. "Yes. But soon it will be a productive nightmare – watch out!"

Their momentary reprieve was brutally shattered. A flock of hooked, dagger-like beaks and frenzied feathers were gathering in the cruel winds above. Those vermillion and scarlet birds collected together as if they were the embodiment of a bloodthirsty storm, before their shrieks pierced the air and they swooped down. Sinbad moved quickly and gripped Jafar's shoulder to pull his old friend down and out of the way. The two took refuge behind a chiselled gathering of rocks, waiting for the foul dungeon creatures to rise from their collective dive and return to their blustering skies above.

Sinbad and Jafar had, at least, avoided the onslaught.

"Ow! They got me again! Why is it always me..." Sharrkan groaned, having not spotted them in time and currently in the process of fending off a solitary attacker. He slashed at the creature with a dark, rapier-like blade as it fixed him within a bloodied and beady-eyed gaze. Finally the harpy took off in a blur of loud wings and a cackle of hysterical laughter. It seemed nothing short of insanity was splashed over its cruel, grimacing and somewhat effeminate face. They had seen little outside of birds and harpies within the dungeon, but then there were also so many of them.

"As you're pretty loud, they hear you first. They haven't gotten me once so far – you need to be careful," Jafar told him quietly. Sharrkan clapped a defensive hand over the scratches grazing his forearm before glancing over them. Through the boy attracting their attention so much, they had worked out that the creatures' beaks and claws had to ability to drain their prey's magoi. As he didn't have all that much magoi to start with, it was hardly the most fortunate discovery.

"I keep saying that they go for me even when I'm quiet. They just hate me," Sharrkan muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. Somewhat dejected he leaned against the cold rocks and yawned tiredly.

Sinbad indicated the marks marring his own arms and hands. "They get most people sooner or later. But as we're almost there its fine if you want to rest a while. We need to wait for them to stop looking for us and go elsewhere, anyway."

Sharrkan nodded, and seemingly was already recovering his enthusiasm for how it would feel to conquer a dungeon. Sinbad had very recently encountered the boy, following being challenged to a duel by him. Far from the cocky teenager taking the defeat badly, he seemed in awe of Sinbad's skill and had taken a liking to him. He had additionally found the concept of Sindria interested and found the idea of building a country interesting, even if the island kingdom was still in its infancy. The meeting had, it transpired, resulted in the new king acquiring a talented, yet highly impressionable, warrior to his ranks.

A welcome silence resumed, and for a while not a word was exchanged between the three. The caws and jeers of the vile dungeon creatures faded finally, almost as if they were seeking easier prey elsewhere. Sinbad had to wonder if someone else had entered into the dungeon and attracted their attention, but for now was just thankful the beasts were gone.

"I wonder if Focalor is watching us again," Sinbad pondered and watched as his breath cast a slight fog as he spoke. The djinn had appeared before after all, a dark apparition carried upon vermillion feathery wings who always avoided approaching them too closely. All the while he had showered them in various and ominous warnings that only death awaited them. To Sinbad, it just seemed a little of a troublesome omen that they were getting closer and closer to the treasure room, as those warnings become louder and more fanatical. Perhaps even now, and within the shadowy abyss laid out below, Focalor was perched in wait.

"Who knows," Jafar replied through chattering teeth, as the violent winds grew increasingly cold and embittered. His dark eyes, unreadable as always, remained fixed upon their destination below. "I'd be amazed if even the djinn of this place can see through this storm. But all that depressing rambling about us dying here – I'll admit it, he seemed a right weirdo to me."

"A weirdo who was wrong; we've survived worse and there's no way we're dying here. He just – ouch!" He stopped as a sudden, strong ripping of air and a dark flashing of claws had set upon Sinbad, and so easily had gotten the better of him. Stabbing pain etched rapidly over his hand, and was coupled with the tell-tale sensation of a pin-prick of magoi being sapped away from him. He whipped round quickly, and in time to see a dark shape descent the skies out of his reach. That familiar mass of deep red and raven feathers which was Focalor gazed over the three calmly. Sinbad rubbed at the warm trickle of metallic crimson which was beading up over his fingers before realising..."Zepar? You stole my ring – hey!"

As if in mockery, Focalor raised a talon at him to reveal himself to be wearing Zepar's metal vessel upon his middle claw. Admiring it silently, the djinn drew out a long tongue over the ring, tasting the small hints of Sinbad's blood which had caught on it during his attack. Furiously Sinbad stood, and quickly started after the silent and retreating figure without a second thought. He couldn't believe he had let his guard drop, especially after Sharrkan had be warned to be more careful. Perhaps, just like a bird of prey, Focalor had been waiting for an opportune moment. And he had been so silent, so swift, that Sinbad hadn't known he was there.

"Sin? Wait!"

He paid the calls behind him no heed. Instead he aimed to make short work to the rocky ravine below. As such he both skidded and tripped painfully down the lethal path as fast as he could. Ahead of him, that cursed thieving djinn soared down energetically, as if leading his prey but Sinbad paid that little thought. He dropped down to the ravine floor, rubbing the aching in his shins as he landed and stood up against the cold and boisterous winds. As he did, he could only gasp at the dismal and dire scene laid out before him.

Fire omitted from a wide circle of torches, which lit up what happened to be the ruins of a kingdom long since lost to the ages. The flickering flames harshly illuminated the decayed and moss-ridden halls of a once breath-taking and now abandoned palace fallen to disrepair. The ruins now served as little more than the nesting ground to those foul harpies. Bones littered the ground under the nests made in the surrounding skeletal tress, bones he was certain were human. He shuddered, and for once not from the chilling air.

High above him and perched on a once elaborate and now greyed and crumbling arch, Focalor stretched out his dark wings. The djinn's powerful voice was easily carried over the braying winds as Sinbad was fixed within his sights again. "Just give up, mortal. You'll only end up lining their nests and stomachs like the rest. You people never learn – just go! Haven't I warned you so many times already?!"

Sinbad had been warned, but wouldn't have turned back even if he could. Brilliant golden eyes fixed on him, and in particular it was Focalor's third eye which caught his attention. Centred on the djinn's forehead, the orb gleamed brightly, even with the shadows passing over its surface. He nodded pointedly to his ring; still being worn on the being's clenched talons. "Even if I could leave, you have my ring and it's important to me. I didn't know djinns were thieves..."

"Djinns can be whatever they wish, just as men can. Did no one ever tell you birds like collecting shiny objects?" Focalor replied with a slight laugh, gazing at the pentagram-emblazed object caught in his clutches. "And this puny, tiny thing is a metal vessel. It's useless to me, as I really don't want to summon Zepar here. Why don't you come and claim it off me, little king?"

"It's not as if all of us can fly, you know..."

"I just assumed you could do anything, given how many djinn have lent you their strength," that third eye pierced through Sinbad, shining brightly as it did, and seemed to be staring into his soul itself. "I can see their marks on you. I'll admit, it's impressive – and a lot more power than any sane man could endure. But don't four djinn seem more than enough to achieve whatever ambitions you have. Why desire a fifth – what are you even doing here? Why seek my power, why would I even lend it you? I...might not even like you..."

Sinbad kept his eyes locked on Zepar's vessel. "No, perhaps you won't like me. But you didn't say I wasn't worthy in any of that."

"No, I didn't, and you are powerful. More than a man should be perhaps," Focalor commented, yet seemed satisfied with what that mysterious third eye of his had seen. "I guess that's stating the obvious, though. Let's see; if you bow to me, I might consider thinking about lending you my power."

"Not for just thinking about lending it to me, no. And I'm not really the bowing type, anyway."

"Is that so? But then aren't you just in awe of this place? This wonderful and prosperous kingdom I've watched over for so long?!" his laughter was like the wind itself. Sharp and quick as a cracking of thunder, yet mournful as an autumn breeze being consumed by a frozen and cruel winter. Focalor's wings bristled as he looked ahead to the two smallish figures approaching the ruins. It seemed Sinbad's companions had caught up, and were hurrying to join him.

"...This place is such a wreck, though? It's all falling apart, are you sure there's treasure?" Sharrkan's carrying voice was muttering to Jafar. He paid no mind to Focalor, who was peering at him with great interest. "I thought it would be...bigger, I guess, impressive. Instead it looks like a damned tomb!"

The djinn smiled. "And indeed it is a tomb..."

In a whiplash of air, and as swift as before, Focalor swopped down, his talons scurrying and scraping against the dusty ground as he landed behind the two teenagers. Once again, Sinbad barely registered he had moved. His sudden gesture disturbed the harpies in their nests nearby, who until now had been passive and alarmingly lifeless in the presence of prey, yet came alive and rose up in loud shrieks. They gathered up in a thick cloud of red before soaring high over the mountain tops and out of sight.

Focalor watched them leave before continuing. "But it is awful here, isn't it? What a bizarre and loud child you travel with. Doesn't it seem a bit cruel, that you're leading such a young and talented person to die in a place like this?"

"Argh! Sin! It's him, it's..." Sharrkan's emerald eyes widened as he let out a loud yell. He dashed away from the being and to his king's side, where his nails gripped Sinbad's arm painfully. In contrast Jafar followed casually after him, gold and green robes ushering around his pale form serenely as he did, as though not phased by Focalor in the slightest. "Well, it's such a mess here you know! How can you put up with living in such a depressing place?!"

"Not very well, to be honest. And I've gazed over it a lot throughout the years..." the towering figure gestured sharply around him. "I've been here so long after all, longer than some child could comprehend. And do you know what I think? They all deserved to die!" Focalor thundered, dark claws gesturing to the bone-strewn ground. "Those foolish men, all calling themselves warriors. Wanting to be kings. They all blundered in here and _demanded_ my power. And all they wound up doing was getting their eyes pecked out! Do you have any idea what it's like, boy, watching something as disgusting and horrific as _that_ so many times? It would drive you _mad_! Oh and I warned them, just as I warned you. But people always have the audacity to keep going! Idiots! You people should all die for being so damned stupid! For being so weak, yet daring to come here. And then...just to die like...that..."

He trailed off, and Jafar sighed quietly. "Yes, Sin. It seems like you've found yourself yet another weirdo..."

Sinbad paused. He dreaded to think, really, of how many people had entered the dungeon. He knew at fourteen years old, whole armies from Partevia had fallen in Baal's lair, and shuddered at the memory. He looked over the bones, and thought of what it would be like for the djinns watching; to see so much death over so many lost years.

He stepped forward, fixing Focalor's eyes with his. "But you know I'm stronger than they all were, don't you? You looked into me, and saw that. As you said, I've struck deals with four djinn before, and conquered their dungeons. I'm here as I still need more strength and help with what I'm doing. I'm building my own country, and you're going to be part of it. And you won't need to think about this place ever again."

"A mere man, consoling me? Hoe arrogant...I like that. Your name was Sin, was it?" close enough, so Sinbad nodded and watched Focalor fall into deep thought. "Very well then, Sin. Let me speak to you alone. But if you fail to impress me..." eyes pierced with his, "Just make sure you impress me."

He took flight, as if certain that Sinbad would acquiesce to his offer. The djinn swept over them, the winds he left spiralling violently against the three as their master vanished into those ruins. Sinbad looked to those cracked and ancient halls, and started forward. "He has my ring anyway. And I don't think Zepar would be amused if I let someone steal him off me."

"He wouldn't mind, Sin; it's just a ring. You have a whole room full of rings, remember?" Jafar muttered as his king took tp picking a path though the mass of bones and dirt. "You could just call him into another vessel, remember? Do you really want to go in there alone?"

"Of course, he asked me to so why not? I can't convince him to come with us standing out here," he called back over his shoulder. "Anyway, what's the worst that could happen?"

"...You know I hate it when you say that."

Grinning, Sinbad continued as this is what he was here for. Steadily he passed though the desolate halls, his steps echoing softly on the worn marble floor as he did. He knew this place encompassed his own fears for Partevia's fate, and perhaps held some resemblance to the lost world of Alma Toran as Focalor remembered his home. Either way, the silence playing around him was thick; it was too heavy and too void of any hope, or laughter. He passed the ivy-strewn crumbling walls, and felt the djinn longed to be drawn away from this world. That Focalor wanted to finally forget the defeated kingdom he watched over.

He rounded the final corner into what he gathered to be the treasure them, an unrelenting wind ripping through his long and violet hair as he did. At a time, he guessed, it had been a pristine and majestic throne room. Now, there was little there aside from the forgotten words and whispers of those who lived long ago. People had once gathered there, had both kneeled and served their king. A king who would have sat upon a stone throne, and gazing over his palace and subjects before him.

Focalor now sat on that cobweb-laced and crumbling throne far across from him. He was overcast by shadows, and a hand was cupped upon his chin as though he was bored. A finger lazily beckoned for Sinbad to approach.

"I know what it's like seeing people die," Sinbad informed him quietly. On drawing into the large room, the winds finally relinquished their assault on his skin. He passed the lines of cracked pillars, and the piles of gleaming magical artefacts and haphazard piles of gleaming coins. All the while, his eyes never left that form shrouded in shadow. "Here you test them, and as they can't leave unless they conquer the dungeon you can't stop them suffering. They chose to be here, yet died before they made it here."

"You say that, but you're leading people to their deaths as well. Right now you're brought those two here – that boy – knowing he could die. You're even building a country, aren't you? What if it falls, their blood will be on your hands. Is this all your kings amount to?"

"Some might, but I'm not going to be one of them. Seeing things like that made me want to build Sindria," as he spoke, his hand gripped the hilt of his father's sword. "When I was really young I lost my father, and the day my mother was taken from me I had to become a man. Many men from my country perished in dungeons, and I hated it. It's why I need power. I need your help, Focalor."

"You're quite the arrogant man, but it's always interesting when someone believes they can change the world. I'm curious just how far you can go..."

As he approached that throne, Sinbad noticed that Focalor's appearance had changed. He no longer was the vermillion feathered creature haunting the new king's steps, but had taken the form of something which looked a lot more human. He was bare to the waist; his skin smooth and pale, and patterned with the swirls of black markings. His hair was a showering of extremely long raven feathers which veiled softly over his powerful shoulders and reached far over his toned arms. Golden chains and charms, both numerous and gleaming, hung around his neck and down onto his exposed chest. Sinbad drew forward, and Focalor inclined towards him from his throne.

His appearance resembled Sinbad a great deal, which he assumed was a sign he would gain Focalor's power. He looked over the clawed hands and their long, darkened nails and noticed they were grasping a long and scarlet scarf. Slim fingers threaded over it softly before mischievous golden eyes locked onto Sinbad. Then, without warning, the vivid scarf was brandished out and brought to coil tightly around Sinbad's waist. It settled round his back, and Focalor pulled him in close to the cold throne. The new king made no move to stop him, instead watching those hands continue to grasp the scarf before reaching up to play over the numerous silver and gold amulets which lay over Sinbad's broad chest curiously. "I thought I would need to persuade you before you would lend me your power."

"Lend you my power..." Focalor repeated quietly. His fingers ducked under those chains, and over the thin material covering his skin. Cold fingertips slowly rubbed and drew slow circles over Sinbad, and caused him to shiver. "I might have just decided looking like you suits me, and it does. I wonder just how entertaining you are..."

"After all this trouble to get here, I can't really see myself refusing many requests you might have and –" he paused as a loud and ripping sound echoed through that quiet throne room. He was flooded with the same sensation of his magoi being sapped from him, and so looked down. Focalor had neatly scored long and sharp thumbnail down his robes and over his chest. The now useless clothing spilled down over the cracked floor in a rippling of white and lilac. The djinn then drew the tip of his tongue over that nail, as if to savour the taste of the energy he had just taken.

"I'm sorry, that was rude to interrupt you wasn't it," shadowy mischief played behind the djinn's eyes, a seductive look Sinbad often wore himself when the occasion arose. It seemed now was to be such an occasion. "But no, I don't think it would make sense to refuse me. I think you should offer your body to me, for a time. That sounds like a good price for borrowing my power..."

The silken scarf encircling Sinbad was pulled abruptly forward. As such he felt himself stumbling again a smooth, and slowly warming chest as the djinn flashed him that same provocative look. Strong hands, so like his own, had already parted his thighs to allow Sinbad to straddle the figure sitting upon that abandoned throne. He was set upon Focalor's lap, who tied and bound his scarf around his bare waist as if marking the king as his. He closed his eyes as he felt fingers, gradually warming from the magoi stolen from his body, rake slowly down his chest and emitted an affected shudder. Nails were scoring their searching lines over his prickled and feverish skin, their pressure ever so lightly indenting against the energy flowing inside of him. It felt as though the djinn's touch was teasing at his very life force, and he inclined to it and failed to stifle a second moan purring in his throat. "I...can guess what you want from me I think."

"Yes, I doubt it's all that hard to figure out," Focalor replied. Even if such occasions were rare, Sinbad had laid with men before. After all, the journeys upon the oceans were often both long and lonely. As such, there had been times when he had whittled away the hours by taking the odd, pretty sailor boy. Or, on even rarer occasions and longer journeys, he would be busy with the taking of two even prettier sailor boys. However, this was very different. The now scalding hot arms had settled tightly at his back. And they held him as though Sinbad was both prey, and lighter than air. Yet he was, of course, neither of those.

Before he could protest however, Focalor's body arched up to meet his bare one. The tantalising presence of a warm pressure, both swollen and large, rubbed slowly against him and he called out loudly. Laughing softly the djinn resembling him so much continued to grind steadily up against him, as if to persuade his surrender. Focalor whispered to him, "I have to admit though – part of me has always wanted to rule over a king. At least for a few hours..."

Soft lips sought over their conquered prey's warm neck, and were now caught an enrapturing heat equal to his own. Feathered arms tightened around him, and despite himself Sinbad felt himself slowly relax into their control. A warm tongue seduced slowly over his damp throat, and he suppressed a cry as magoi was claimed thickly from him. As if that djinn was drinking and feeding from his very life itself. Kisses followed, and felt so pleasantly numb against his savoured flesh and be tilted back obediently for him. The thought dawned on him that his own body felt weakened and cooler as Focalor's become stronger and hotter. But he didn't think of that too much.

"So, you'll accept this?" Focalor asked, and continued to lap over his pleasure-numbed prey. Sinbad nodded, somewhat weakly and found himself unable to do little more than writhe in enraptured helplessness. He felt almost desperate for the lips nipping against his throat in their ever drain kisses, and the prickling heat they left in their wake. "Alright then, my little Sin. And don't worry – I'll be gentle with you..."


	2. A Melody of Solace

_Big thanks to Akumarayne and SmileRen for the reviews, and anyone else reading, following and favouriting thus far.  
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_I'm going to take the liberty to jump this up to an M rating as, yeah, stuff happens but then it usually does. I don't want to mentally scar anyone._

_And yep, kinda made up a character here. I do that. Rashid is - actually - Alibaba's father's name though apparently._

_Enjoy~_

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_**A Melody of Solace**_

Whatever Sinbad had thought would happen once he entered Focalor's dungeon, this was a far cry from it. One thing he was aware of, however, even if his sweat-drenched and aching body refused to acknowledge as much was that he would endeavour to be more...mindful and sympathetic towards his sexual conquests. Both those he himself had taken roughly in the past, and of course those he was sure to claim even more roughly in the future. For now however, those considerations were a little hard to make. What with his body all but dissolved into heat, and the rippling of pulsating passion taking him repeatedly from behind.

As such, this was what the new king had been reduced to. Bowing. Or, more accurately, he was made to keel. After all, in mockery of Sinbad's refusal to bow to Focalor earlier, this was his punishment. And also the way the djinn had chosen to use his body for his entertainment. As such the usually powerful and prideful man was now sprawled out over the freezing seat of the throne before him. In the muted light of those deserted ruins, every inch of him was under the control of someone else. His palms had long since given out under the pushing and height of the body bearing down on him, the body which was riding him mercilessly. All the while, his fingertips gripped and tasted the cold and chiselled stone beneath them as he struggled futilely to steady himself.

Not long ago, he had watched those clawed and feathered hands fit coils of golden chains tightly onto his wrists, arms and over his chest. And even one was tied as a collar around his neck, apparently for the sake of Focalor admiring how they looked as they adorned and softly glistened against his trembling and bronzed body. He was bound tight enough so he couldn't escape, and was rendered powerless. Those chains wrapped tightly round him like radiant and dark shining serpents, lightly hugging and squeezing tightly over his skin. Even now their metal coils remained cold, despite Sinbad's body burning white hot. As such, they felt highly pleasant now, especially with sweat and arousal pouring so readily from him.

Focalor's body, which still resembled his own, knelt up heavily against his prey and pressed all his weight against his back. Almost fiercely he rubbed against him, and all the while continued to deeply probe and circle himself within the king. Sinbad heard himself utter a throaty yet harsh cry, and in that embrace, and within those timeless and ivy-strewn ruins, he was pressed forward even further.

All but flattered to that throne, Sinbad's head tilted to the side, watching the figure grind into him from the corner of his clouded vision. His perfect nails found their grip within the cracked stone and desperately hooked themselves there for support. Oblivious to that, Focalor's hand which had been locked tightly around his waist descended to play between his legs and grip at what hung unattended there. His other sharp hand gripped at the chain collared at Sinbad's throat, to bring his body back and arch it pleasurably for him. Harder and harder those energetic thrusts came, as the djinn became all the more rough in his plunging into Sinbad's trembling body.

His eyes looked over that long chain round his neck which was pulling him back up. It glistened really, alive with the fire and beauty of life itself. Sinbad knew well that the chains gripping and chilled against his skin were powered and fuelled with his own magoi. He wasn't keen on the idea of his own strength being used against him, even if it was one he admired and wanted to use himself. Those chains grew brighter and Focalor's body grew more frenzied. At the same time, he felt himself growing steadily more tired, both from being taken like this and being heavily fed upon.

He shifted heavily against the organ inside of him, which had steadily grown swollen and begun to pulsate thickly and pleasurably. Sinbad felt the ache of wishing to be freed and escape that thrusting and binding tyranny over his body, yet was made to submit to it, likewise, he was giving into the enthusiastic hand now stroking and squeezing what was between his bare thighs. Focalor moaned and grinded up against him as his frenzied circles into him became all the more probing and furious. Sinbad just felt as though he was being roughly conquered by the very person he had wished to claim himself.

Even so, he struggled within those chains even if when he cried out seduction clung with its fire to his voice. He shouldn't be enjoying this. Especially with how Sinbad's knees ached against the painful chill which came from kneeling this long. The soft, yet thin veil-like red scarf positioned beneath him offered little reprieve as well. That ever quickening body behind him continued its prolonged assault, and rule, over his own. He could do little about that and about Focalor again pressing him down. Long, silky strands of feathered dark hair spilled forth, down Sinbad's back and over his shoulders as Focalor leaned in. The djinn took to sharply nipping at the back of his neck, finally drawing the tip of his tongue over it to savour his prey. Each of those kisses and caresses were laced heavily with that numbing, and now familiar sensation of his strength slowly and softly ebbing away from him.

With a final and especially deep thrust into his body, Sinbad was met with a sudden and violent eruption of scorching warmth which welled up and soaked everything within him. In the next moment he was met with his own stuttering and uncontrollable twitching as the hand kneading at his groin finished its work on him in turn. His release was equally as heated, and he felt its sticky wetness spill down messily down his legs in trickles that dark throne. He shifted so it didn't mark the scarf he was leaning on. The sweet scent of both sweat and sex mingled with and fragranced the surrounding breeze, and coupled with exhaustion it made Sinbad feel rather light headed.

Any cry he uttered was overshadowed by the shout calling out behind him, which sounded akin to a crack of thunder. The rocking within him slowed and drew to a close. The swollen, enlarged presence within him teased slowly at the hidden walls to Sinbad's body before finally Focalor drew out of him. The king's body was wracked with an ache which clung to him almost lazily, and he collapsed forward. Those darkly glittering, magoi enriched chains which bound him loosened. One by one they then dropped down, colliding with the hard floor in the dull clanging of metal on stone. He felt Focalor draw his exhausted body back to sit upon his lap, and didn't have the strength to object. He was drawn into those pale and possessive arms, and when held he thought nothing more of his compromised position.

An affectionate hand ran through his damp and tangled hair, a touch which even now tugged playfully at the long since spent magoi within him. Focalor leaned back, his king on his lap still, and with a satisfied sound. "...You certainly proved entertaining enough to me."

"...Yes," he admittedly, and rather more breathily and needy-sounding than he would have liked. Usually, he would never think of himself as being reduced to a heaving and lusty sexual conquest. "It was worth it...if I get to borrow your power."

"Ah. Are you going to tell me that's all this was to you?" Focalor whispered softly. Those toned, feather marked arms drew over him. A hand slowly reached down over Sinbad's bronzed and shining chest to fondle again at his inner thighs. Amber eyes closed, in enjoyment, and parted his legs for him. He just tried not to think too much on the dark, claw like nails raking over the sensitive skin there. Focalor laughed as Sinbad leaned back, defeated into his shoulder and wrapped his second arm around the king's waist. "I was behind you this whole time, remember. And listening...intently. You're a lot louder than I thought."

Sinbad didn't wish to admit to that, and wanted to remain at least a fragment of the pride and strength he usually held. Even so, his fingers hand sought out to rest on the clawed hand playing over his skin as if in encouragement. The djinn leaned in to press his lips to his. At first that kiss was rough and demanding, yet it steadily softened as if the fury of a personified storm had been quietened and calmed by Sinbad's taste.

"Your energy is strange, though..." Focalor told him quietly as he drew back from Sinbad's tingling lips. "I feel it's something which shouldn't be. It feels to me like an angry song blurted out unnecessarily over a gentle wind. Something not really dark, yet not completely light anymore. I don't know what to think. But I know it called out to me. And I figured it would be fun controlling your body."

"...How often I've said something similar."

"I'm sure you have," he replied, and took to planting a trail of draining kisses over Sinbad's neck, and onto his shoulder. The pressure of fingers continued to graze over his inner though, and caused him to shudder audibly. "But you're interesting, I'll give you that. You have the sense of someone who accepts how insane the world is, and how stupid some people can be. Like those people bursting into my dungeon with their stupid demands and...dying like that. I couldn't stand it."

"You might not like my reasons either though," Sinbad remained him. "Maybe that doesn't matter; maybe you just want someone interesting."

"I guess so. Strong people can be insufferably annoying. And you might end up becoming a tyrant I guess. I don't mind though; if I continue liking you and you're an amusing enough tyrant."

"Such a thing exists?" Sinbad asked. "I don't think I could do that though, in all honesty. I deserted my country as I detested what they did there. I want to do things my way."

"Many people are optimistic, until they see how dark and troubling the world is," Focalor told him and cradled his face into Sinbad's shoulder. "But that's something you know already. How about it; telling me what happened to darken you this much?"

"If you like," he replied, even if he hadn't been looking forward to that. After all, it wasn't exactly an event he looked back upon fondly. "It was a couple of years ago, and happened close to a country called Balbadd. I don't remember much of the actual incident, as I lost sight of myself. A curse was placed on me by a sort of black magic I've never seen before. This happened as I overestimated myself and tried to fight alone. And I paid a high price in doing so."

Focalor thought over the all too brief words carefully. "Is that it?"

"...No," Sinbad replied. His thumb had already begun to stroke softly over the beautifully decorated silver cuff adorning his right forearm. He almost cringed as those forgotten memories gushed forth, the good washing with the bad ones and threatening to drown him as he was caught in their tide. The images returned, and the uncertainty that day had caused to well up within him...

_...The streets, he remembered, had been reduced to ruins when he had finally awoken. In fighting their enemy, he had seen the cloudless and startling day darken and grown so cold, and apparently he had lost consciousness. Now, as Sinbad opened his eyes, he experienced a new shudder of cold magoi sweeping though him. That black energy coursed though him, and remained part of him to this day. Just from that he knew something awful had happened, and reached to grip his sword. But it was no longer at his side._

_Nothing could have really prepared him from what he saw next._

_That figure, that body of a treasured friend, lay prone nearby. Faisal's long and silvery waves of hair were washed within what appeared to be a river of his own blood. Rashid Saluja approached, and held Sinbad's sword in hand along with his own. Slowly the King of Balbadd's eyes met with his, and he would never forget the mingling of horror and relief clouded in those usually calm and clear golden orbs. That wise man lowered his weapon, and didn't wish to harm him. He simply spoke of a curse, and that he had brought Sinbad back to his senses._

_Somehow, Rashid had been able to break that mysterious black curse which temporarily had stolen his mind and senses from him. Sinbad had been lucky, very lucky. Even so, as he had silently looked over Faisal's lifeless body, he knew just what he had lost that day..._

...Sinbad's eyes stung heavily from his memories, and he rubbed over them. That third, mysterious eye upon Focalor's forehead had fixed its dark radiance upon him. As he recounted his thoughts it seemed to stare through him, to watch them as if to gather a whispered answer to his question. "...That curse you almost lost yourself to, it's left its mark as did that friend you lost. But that darkness, I can taste it in your magoi. In your blood..." Focalor added quietly, and stroked over Sinbad's hand he had scratched when he had taken Zepar's metal vessel. "It's faded and grown subtle with time. But its wound left a scar. And now you don't feel dark, or light, but somehow lodged between the two."

Nodding solemnly, Sinbad's hand gripped onto the bracelet as that third eye continued to look over him. it shone with its blackened fire, and made him feel uncomfortable with seeing more within the king than he would have liked. Even so, if the djinn's power was to be his, there was little sense not sharing this with him. "His name was Faisal. He was a very good friend, and he served the king of Balbadd. He used to sing at the palace there...and had the most beautiful voice I've ever heard. On that day, he was trying to protect me. And he died doing so. As I lost sight of myself, I couldn't stop that happening..."

He fell silent, his fingers continuing to play over that bracelet. Focalor's fingers continued to trace over the scratches on his hand as he did. "You see how that's not your fault, though?"

"Perhaps. I did blame myself though. It was a harsh lesson to learn; that if I become a king and have people follow me it means their lives are in my hands. And my life is in theirs. I was foolish; I overestimated myself and my strength and fought alone. And the prince was his life. It's why I'm still seeking strength from djinn like you. I don't want to lose someone like that again."

"And it's so easy to lose everything..."

Sinbad reached over, lightly plucking Zepar's ring away from Focalor's clutches. For a moment he gripped it righter tightly within his fist before slipping it back onto his finger where it belonged. "Easier than I thought. I owe Rashid a lot, though. Without him I'd have done more than fail to save a mutual friend who was trying to protect me. Even so...it was painful. I've been trying to research that curse ever since; even if I'm not sure it even is one. A magician friend of mine is trying to help. She heard it's called 'falling to depravity.' And I half fell to it apparently."

"You might not be as lucky if something like that happens a second time."

"It won't. I'll get stronger," Sinbad replied flatly. "I have my suspicions that a particular organisation was involved in what happened. I don't know much about them, just that whenever we run into them, they end up fighting us."

"If they were, I'm sure you'll avenge your friend," Focalor replied, and took to running his fingers over the silvery cuff thoughtfully. "And this pretty thing here belonged to him. It's striking, really – I wish half the junk piled up in here was as nice as that."

"You said you collected shiny things before. I guess you never said you collected nice things," Sinbad leaned forward in the djinn's lap to glance over the piles of gold and jewels scattered throughout the treasure room. "It's something to remember him by."

"It seems fitting to use that as a metal vessel, if you like. I gather it should be something meaningful. Just don't let someone steal me away as easily as you allowed me to take Zepar from you."

"You should know better than to steal a djinn, though."

"Really? Then I guess I just don't know better," Focalor admitted. "But I do know this. I have the feeling you'll be someone who someday will have a greater impact upon this world. And that's going to be interesting to see. As it is, I feel that two Magi have recognised your strength already. One of those is close by as we speak."

An uncomfortable shiver ran through him as Sinbad heard that news. And that was in spite of the warm body still wrapped around him. He could only guess who that would be. "And is this Magi alone?"

"No. I think he was leading someone here, but it's hard to tell."

"...Maybe he was just looking to close it on me," Sinbad thought aloud. It was unlikely, but then it was something that insufferable brat would do. That child Magi who belonged to that same despised organisation he had fought with so many times.

"Maybe, and if that's the case you might want to think of leaving. I don't really want for us to be trapped here," with a last, and softer, kiss Focalor drew out from under him, and as he moved away the room seemed significantly colder. Sinbad stood, and was embarrassingly aware of just how exposed and sore his body was. He set about collecting his ripped robes, along with that long, veil-like scarf as an afterthought. "I haven't met a Magi from this era yet. Even so, I think I'd like lending you my strength. Even if so many are helping you, I just always wanted to side with a conqueror."

Sinbad narrowed his eyes slightly at that, and continued to pull on his ruined clothing. On fixing them in place with that scarf, Focalor gazed over him with an amused expression. Having his clothing ruined was, as he previously guessed, going to prove somewhat troublesome. "Before thought, on the mountainside and just before we met you, your dungeon creatures they –" he began, and the djinn bristled as if in distaste at their mention. Even so, this was important. "They were retreating, I think. Would that mean someone was led in here? That Magi and I are...enemies I guess."

"Interesting...so you're going to fight a Magi?"

Sinbad averted his eyes. "...It's complicated."

"Ah, I didn't say it was a bad thing. It could be fun," Focalor, it seemed, didn't share Sinbad's sentiment that dealing with Judal was going to be anything less than a hassle once they were out of there. "If you do fight him though, you can use my power if you like, even if it is so soon. I've just been...so bored here after this long. I really want to see how well – or ill- founded your courage and conviction really is, Sinbad..."

With that, the darkly radiant figure opposite him faded into wisps of shadow and blackened light. That darkness shimmered like gold and scarlet embers upon the breeze, and seemed to hum in the tune of an ancient and forgotten song as they collected together. Sinbad watched their light fade as they curiously circled that cuff on his forearm, and faded as they drew into it. He could almost feel the wealth of magoi returning to him, cascading over his senses like an uncontrollable tide. Even if his body remained sore, it was at least something to have his strength back.

Those ruined hallways, however, seemed all the more empty with the absence of the one watching them for so long. Choosing not to dwell on such a thought, however, Sinbad drew back over the cracked ground to find his companions. Arms crossed around himself tightly, he could only imagine what Jafar would say about his dishevelled, and even shameful appearance. Even so, he had done it. Sinbad now felt the power of his fifth djinn, the djinn ruling over the domains of rule and submission, within his grasp.


	3. On Borrowed Wings

_Big thanks to Akumarayne and NekoNyapii for the reviews and kind words ^^ along with everyone else following thus far. Admittedly I have had a lot of fun with this so far. Always fun and unnerving writing a character from scratch:p  
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_**On Borrowed Wings**_

"So what exactly did that djinn do to you?" Jafar had waited until they were alone, and both actually in the water, to ask that. It was as if he knew his king dreaded that question, and was in half a mind to run away upon being asked that. However, right now both men were contently quenching away the early desert morning in a close by oasis. The ominous entrance to Focalor's dungeon, crowned by its dome of sun-sparkling gold, was still very much held fixed in the corner of Sinbad's eye. After all, and curiously, it was yet to disappear. "As you were in his treasure room for an extremely long time."

"Yes. Too long," he agreed. He stood, and cupped together his palms within the clear crystalline water. He then brought them up to allow the liquid to splash coolly down over his heated hand and sun-assaulted skin of his shoulders. The calm waters of that oasis were still chilled by the previous night, and thankfully had not yet succumbed to the static heat steadily growing in strength all around them. Sinbad wiped at his eyes, and drew back his long hair before peering back at his companion. "But you know how they say there's a first time for everything?" he received a curt nod. "Well...let's just say there's also a _last _time for those things..."

"I see..." Jafar frowned thoughtfully at that. He then leaned back against the sand swept and darkened rock behind him. The pale man had never really taken to heat all too well. It's why they had agreed that Sharrkan should go to set about bringing their caravan to the dungeon's entrance, whilst they waited.

Close by, Jafar's clothes were caught over the silvery branches of an olive tree. Over the, the wind was picking up and rippling thickly over their soft, yellow and emerald coloured material. Those same gusts were already racing each other along the golden and shadowed sands of the circling desert. They were relieved from those harsh currents, however, due to them crashing against the thick trunks of palm trees. Despite the arid cruelty which came from being in the desert lands, it was almost peaceful there. There was no one in sight, and it felt pleasant to drink up the calm after how chaotic and unpredictable that dungeon had been.

Sinbad stood within that shallow water, watching it stream and glisten down over his body and carried with it any dirt still clinging to his bronzed muscles. Jafar had long since taken to look elsewhere, and definitely not in his direction. Instead, he was looking over the verdant, spiked reeds behind him, and caught his fingers against the tiny yellow and scarlet wild flowers which accompanied them. "Well...surely it wasn't that bad. After you, it sounded like you were enjoying what he was...doing," the nineteen year old informed Sinbad rather awkwardly, his slim fingers clenching upon the petals within his grip as he did.

His king was drawing a long, deep vermillion feather from his hair with a perplexed look as to how it had got there. He looked over it, before deciding to keep it as he needed a new quill, anyway. He then looked over at his companion, who was currently wearing a smudge of embarrassed pink across his freckled cheeks after admitting that. "You were listening? Jafar...eavesdropping is a terrible habit."

"...As if I need to hear that from you of all people!" he snapped back. "And no, I wasn't listening Sin. _Why_ would I listen to that? You were just...extremely vocal about it. Why do you think I had Sharrkan go ahead to get help to carry back this lot." he said, and indicated the piling up of gold and items they had stuffed into numerous bags up on the embankment. "I didn't want you mentally scarring the kid."

"Ah. I thought it's because you won't want to get heat stroke again," Sinbad grinned. "And he's not too young to know about sex, he's fifteen. I was a man already at that age."

"Perhaps; but you came back looking indecent," Jafar muttered, smoothing through his silver hair and allowed his eyes to flick back to Focalor's veil-like scarf. Of course, Sinbad had decided to keep that, too, as a reminder. "Anyway, just wear something of mine. We won't have far to go back to the closest town anyway. And you didn't bring enough clothes with you again."

"I'll remember next time," he waved a dismissive hand. And more than likely, he'd forget the next time as well. "Why is it whenever we travel through the desert I end up wearing something silly?"

"Don't call my clothing silly. It's going to be a bit small for you but it's better than you getting arrested. Or stared at."

Sinbad nodded, even if they both knew he tended to get stared at regardless. He emerged from the oasis first, and took to extracting soft robes from one of their messily packed bags. He slipped them on, enjoying how light they felt but disliking their tightness over his broad shoulders and that they were too several inches short of the grass beneath his feet. He then saw about slipping one the various jewellery and metal vessels he had accumulated over the years.

Sinbad knew they should get moving. That vivid, already smouldering morning was brightening rapidly around them and soon the heat would be unbearable for the both of them. Jafar knew this, and as such with a resigned groan he extracted his slight and pale body from the all too enticing water.

Jafar had barely snatched his robes from that olive tree when a vicious wind began to snarl overhead. It was tracing an invisible and winding path over the golden dunes towards them, and its malice stung unpleasantly against Sinbad's eyes. He covered his face against its unprecedented fury, and all the time he had the unsettling impression they were no longer alone. In fact, a shiver passed through him and he was fairly sure they were being watched.

As the dark shadow of a carpet was cast over them from high above, Jafar let out an irritated groan. He then pulled on his robes hurriedly. "...Not him again."

His companion was already gathering the coils of his crimson wires between his fingertips, and had readied himself. As that ashen carpet hovered there it did it caused the once stagnate waters to violently churn, and for the trees and grass to snap back against the strengthening winds. A small figure, swathed in black and oversized robes, had dropped down. He had landed within the leaves of the tallest palm tree, and looked up. That carpet shrank into the form of a small, white turban before dropping silently down into the Magi's lap.

In fact, the child seemed almost too proud of using gravity magic to float down in such a way. "See...I knew even a stupid king like you would make it out in time. I saw all your rukh but...why are you dressed up all weird like that? You look so funny, Sinbad..."

"...Stupid king?" Sinbad asked. He glanced up at that skinny figure and his bright ruby eyes who grinned back brightly. It had certainly been a while since they had last encountered Judal. Right now the body swung his legs heavily against his tree, and gave the dark and ruby tipped sceptre gripped in his tiny hand a sharp flick. In the next moment, and with another groaning shudder, the once tranquil waters of the oasis were twisted in darkened turmoil. The golden dunes surrounding them shifted and crashed into each other dangerously. It was then he watched that dome of Focalor's dungeon stutter, before slowly sinking back into the ground to vanish back to whence it came.

"It's been a while, hasn't it? I heard someone say you were making a country, and called yourself a king. You're stupid – so stupid king fits pretty well," the boy laughed down at him.

Sinbad felt this was the last thing they needed. Even so, he often encountered Judal at the doors of the dungeons he conquered. After all, that black haired brat was the one who had raised most of them, so it made sense he would be there. And usually in time to watch Sinbad spirit away a metal vessel meant for one of the Magi's other candidates. As such they clashed often; even of the boy seemed to have something of a fascination with him.

Strangely enough, Judal appeared quite alone and unaccompanied at the moment. He was gripping his sceptre tightly again, before gesturing to the skies with it. Within moments thick clouds had gathered, darkening their once startling and clear blue. Those same skies were now bruised and torn asunder as bright lightening cut across them and thunder threatened to wrench apart the heavens themselves.

Judal gazed upwards keenly, eyes widened in wonder at the chaos he had brought about and seemed very much enthralled by his own considerable power and magic. "See? I can command thunder and lightning now. Just like you could the last time we played together. Of course I learned it younger than you did."

"Brilliant. That's just what we need – him working out new and better ways to hurt people," Jafar muttered venomously under his breath.

"You've gotten strong," Sinbad called up, and Judal nodded back proudly. He knew the boy would be twelve years old now, even if those dark and oversized robes he still wore indicated he still hadn't grown that much. They were the same robes which marked him as part that strange organisation Sinbad knew little about. "That's impressive magic. But you know, I'm not a magician – what I showed you last time was a djinn's equip." He told him, and drew Baal's sword out of one of the numerous bags beside him to illustrate what he said. "As you know, I need to deal with djinns to borrow power like that. You're a Magi – you're special and can do a lot of things most people can't."

"Don't encourage the nasty little bastard..." Jafar sighed as the boy looked down at them proudly. "Sin, let's leave before he goes and gets himself all wound up over nothing like he usually does."

That would, perhaps, be the safest thing to have done in that situation.

"You know, Sinbad, you don't need to steal my dungeons. Become mine, and you can have my power all you want. How about it?" Judal asked. It was the same offer he always made, and the offer which Sinbad always refused without a second thought. After a long pause, he continued. "Well...whatever then. You really took your time though. I was so _bored_ waiting for you. I thought that rotten old bird djinn got to kill you before I did."

"How unpleasant..." Jafar muttered. Judal was still gazing expectantly down at Sinbad, as though certain he would accept his offer. It definitely seemed the case the Magi was taking it upon himself to study increasingly complicated magic to become stronger and stronger. "I didn't think that organisation let you go off on your own."

"Ah, they don't. I felt you guys were done in there, and told the people I was with to head outside. I guess they're just slow, but it's no loss. After all, they're not as good as you," Judal announced cheerfully. Sinbad felt a chill run down his spine due to the cold words spoken by such a deceptively innocent looking child. "I know – they were so weak and stupid! The organisation made me name the guy, you know. I told him to be quick, but I guess he got lost," he laughed. "But you know...you're amazing doing all this so many times. Just hurry and accept my offer already. I'm getting stronger all the time. Everything can be ours..."

"I'm too tired right now to think about taking over the world," Sinbad said lightly. Honestly, he'd rather suffer a thousand nights spread across a thousand dungeons than accept anything this little nightmare offered him.

A flash of white and hurried footsteps was racing across the golden sands towards them. As he caught up, Sharrkan leaned down and gripped at his knees to catch his breath. Then, still red faced he looked around perplexed at the extremely localised patch of bad weather. "So weird over here...I'm glad I remembered about this oasis, or I'd never have found your guys again! It's weird, I never thought it was true some big dungeon could just up and disappear so quickly. ~Anyway the caravan's here so –" he trailed off, and looked to whom his companions gazed at so apprehensively. And Judal who was staring back with a bored expression. "So whose this little guy stuck up a tree?"

"This is Judal. He's someone we've met a few times now, and the reason why the skies are so dark over here," Sinbad informed him, and Sharrkan seemed confused by that. "Judal, this is –"

"Eh? I don't care, and I don't like him," Judal announced abruptly and glared down at them darkly. "You should go and drop him off a pier or something," he added, stashing the turban on his lap back inside the robes. He then dropped down lightly into the long, reed strewn grass.

"This kid is a nightmare," Jafar told the fifteen year old. "So whatever you do...actually, just don't do anything. He's a Magi."

"What?! This tiny brat is a Magi? And making those clouds so dark and stuff? No way, what are you two lying for?"

"Then how would you expect those skies?" Sinbad asked, and the teenager couldn't answer that much. Judal just blinked up at the three expectantly. "We're not lying, as Jafar said, be careful. He can be dangerous."

"Yeah...sure..." it seemed Sharrkan had fallen into that trap. The trap Sinbad himself had fallen for so many times when he looked upon Judal. The swordsman however was already walking forward, and Sinbad didn't move to stop him. He even held out an arm to stop Jafar from doing so. After all, learning not to fall for the boy's act was an important lesson to learn. Even so, the king kept his hand rested on his sword's hilt just in case something happened.

After all, the tall man knew all too well had Judal appeared to him when they had first met several years ago. When the Magi had been a very small child and Sinbad assumed he had been cruelly abandoned in an extremely dangerous place like a dungeon. He had even offered to help that brat get out of there safely back then. He soon regretted that, even if Judal seemed interested enough to keep offering him his power. With his tears and vulnerable expression, however, the Magi was a little too good of an actor despite his tender age. And he was all too willing to mock peoples' sympathy for his own cruel amusement.

Sharrkan had drawn up before the affronted looking boy, and crouched down. Judal gazed at him with those larger ruby eyes, and they shone like fire in that hazy desert heat. He didn't shy away from the swordsman, and even offered a bright smile as a hand reached down out to ruffle at his long, wind tangled fringe.

From where he was, Sinbad could see it coming. But then, this seemed as important a lesson to Sharrkan as conquering dungeons was. Judal drew back, standing as he did, and Sharrkan made the mistake of not backing away as well. "Ah...do you want to play then?" the fifteen year old asked, and the twelve year old had nodded. The downside was that his idea of playing, and fun, where at someone else's expense. As if to demonstrate that, the brat proceeded to deliver a short and hard kick to the swordsman's shin.

"Ow! You..." Sharrkan had reached for his sword, and Judal his sceptre. Weapon still drawn, Sinbad stepped forward in warning. The Magi had enough sense to use gravity magic, and floated up towards those localised dark clouds and out of their reach. From the unsettling grin on his face, the boy was already plotting his next attack.

Jafar gave a resigned sigh. His fingers threaded over his wires, and seemed to know that things would play out this way. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"...You little bastard! I'll make you sorry for that!" Sharrkan continued to shout upwards, hopping and massaging at his assaulted leg as he did. "You can't go round kicking people, so get back down here! I'll show you..."

"Ha? You'll show me? You think some idiot like you stands a chance against me?" Judal laughed back at him. "You're more of an idiot than this idiot for thinking something like that. You're such an idiot you're funny! Where do you go about picking up all these weirdoes, Sinbad?"

Sharrkan narrowed his emerald eyes. "What did just you say? Ah! Just get back down here you horrid little brat!"

"Huh? Make me...if you can," he jeered down from the safety of his storm-ridden clouds.

By now, Sinbad was also resigned to the fact that things would end badly if they continued. Even so, and despite crossing paths with him so many times, he really didn't feel comfortable harming a child. Slowly he ran a finger over Zepar's metal vessel upon his scratched fingers. Even if it was extreme, calling him seemed to be the best idea he currently had.

_What? Are you actually going to use Zepar instead of me? The hell...I even asked for you to prove yourself to me, didn't I? So get a move on, then. Ask for my power, Sin – I'm waiting..._The voice of an unseen person reached Sinbad in its chorus like a darkened purr. It stuck like a soft and secret whiplash against his mind, and he knew that voice. All the same, he knew it was far too early to attain a full equip with Focalor and silently told him as much.

_Come on; you want to fly, don't you? Everyone wants to, at least once. Besides I know you don't want to hurt that child Magi. So what are you waiting for...? _Focalor continued to goad at him. Refusing the djinn, it seemed, just to make that imposing voice grow louder and more frustrating.

He could feel Faisal's bracelet, and now Focalor's metal vessel, him loudly with energy and grow brightly upon his wrist. As it shimmered darkly up at him, it was almost singing and pleading to be called upon for its power. Somewhat apprehensively, therefore, Sinbad gave in and raised his arm. That already darkened, localised area of the oasis fell deeper into shadow. And he called upon the somewhat pushy spirit of rule and submission for the first time.

"I really didn't want you to start anything here," Sinbad told Judal, who was eyeing him with interest. The king could feel his fair lengthening in darkened feathers, and watched his nails grow to form darkened claws. Once he noticed his paled, tattooed torso with its adornment of golden chains and charms, he knew he couldn't look so dissimilar from the appearance Focalor had decided upon for himself. Dark energy combined and mingled with something lighter, and seemed to spiral all around him. "But you always have to show off. Don't you, Judal?"

Coming from him, Sinbad knew that sounded a tad ironic. Even so he took flight into the singing air, and drew level with that small yet powerful person. He could even see Judal's grin falter as he curiously eyed over the strange and new form. "Don't look so surprised, now. Judal, you learned new magic yourself didn't you? It seems I just learned how to fly..."

"...Huh?" But you just met Focalor, though."

"He took a liking to me," Sinbad told him, even if he wasn't going to admit how he gained the djinn's approval. "So – what do you think?"

"That you're not as stupid as I thought. Alright...if you're that keen on fighting you can show me how strong you are. Just don't blame me if I end up destroying you," the boy gripped his sceptre with a determined expression. After all, Judal would never refuse a chance to show off his immense power. Even so, Judal frowned as nothing happened. Sinbad had suspected as much, and watched the Magi attempt to use his magic a second time. Again, nothing happened. "Ha? What's going on...?"

"My guess is you haven't learned how to use two different types of magic at the same time yet. Perhaps that's what you can learn for when I beat another of your dungeons," Sinbad was just given a blank look. "Right now you're floating using gravity magic, correct?" he asked, and received a short nod. "So using a second type of magic right now is too much for you. You can float up here, or you could use your carpet but that's pretty slow isn't it? You couldn't keep up with me that way. You could also land down there, but they'll attack you. Or wait here. As, well..." Sinbad watched the aria of his energy spark around him. He collected it, both white and shadow, between his palms and into a glittering sphere of magoi. "I can fly, and attack you. Do you want to see?"

"Ha? Wait – you're cheating! You're not meant to be able to do that!" Judal shouted in frustration. However he drew away, which was good as Sinbad really didn't want to attack him. The boy rose up into those frenzied clouds and glared. "Fine. Tell you what; the next time we'll meet I'll be able to use two types of magic at once. Perhaps even three." He added. "But...so you know...my organisation will ask what happened. I figure you don't mind if I lie and say you killed the guys they wanted me to help through that dungeon..."

"Wha-"

"Later then~...stupid king!" Judal called back, before turning to make his hasty retreat.

Sinbad sighed in relief, having successfully averted a fight with that brat. He felt too tired for that. Even so, he didn't like the thought of fighting a Judal who could utilise multiple forms of magic at once. His opponent retreated, laughing into those darkened skies. Once he was gone, the same skies lightened back to that clear and perfect blue. Below, the silvery and shimmering surface of the oasis grew once again tame.

Floating there, Sinbad could feel the wealth of darkened power and white energy granted by Focalor's equip flicker and die. He could almost feel the djinn sigh at not having the opportunity to fight something as powerful as a Magi. But then he would just want to scare the brat away. The king allowed himself to fall lightly down onto the harsh and scratchy reeds below him. Upon his wrist, the curiously singing energy radiating off that silver cuff gradually fell to silence, as thought its song had ended.

Jafar was already rushing over to him, and Sharrkan just seemed mildly confused as to what exactly had transpired. Even if the newer of his companions was unlikely to know how significant that was, he was aware some strange things had happened. At his side, Sinbad watched pale fingers draw over the new metal vessel with interest. "...How did you learn how to use a full equip from him so soon? That's...just insane. Even for you, that's insane."

"What can I say? I'm amazing?" Sinbad beamed back at him. "And as you mentioned, we had time to bond pretty well together. Even if it was – ah – like that." He added awkwardly.

"Like what?" Sharrkan asked as he looked between them curiously.

"You'll know full well – in a year or so," Jafar told him as he lightly clapped a hand onto the younger teenager's shoulder. Both were still looking over their king curiously. "Right now...I think surviving a dungeon and dealing with _that_ person is more than enough for you. Sin just...don't think you can do – that – to get accepted by more djinn. It's beyond indecent."

"Indecent, but effective," he grinned brightly. Sinbad watched the two walk ahead, as they went to begin to collect the winnings of their dungeon to load onto the caravan. He sat back in the reeds of that lush and enticing oasis to watch them. It seemed, from the sun ahead, to be vastly approaching noon and they had been there for so long. All things considered however, it was a successful trip. And it was one which had him itching to dungeon dive again – preferably sooner rather than later.


	4. Vision of Red

_I did actually intend to finish this story a while back, so my apologies for that much as it's been a while.  
_

_A huge thanks to Akumarayne, SmileRen and NekoNyapii for the reviews and anyone else reading etc. I get there eventually :_

_Enjoy~_

* * *

**_Vision of Red_**

It was almost a decade before Sinbad again encountered those strange men and their Organisation. And, with it, had a second bitter taste of what they called a curse. It happened once he had fully established Sindria, and had long since made his name known. At that time, Al-Thamen had encroached upon their shores, announced a war and had sought to spread their darkness and depravity that far. And, for the second time, he had driven them away. For the second time, someone had helped him drive that curse from his body. Yet, such things would always have a price.

By then, he was well aware of what it meant to truly worry for the country he had built, along with those close to him. The makeshift and ever-growing family encompassing that island so secluded and far away from the rest of the ever watching world. Still, he would remember Faisal, the silver bracelet he had given him holding a suggestion of what it was like to lose someone. That chilling and heavy hopelessness and sinking feeling of such a thing.

However, he knew it could happen. As well as he knew, sooner or later, Al-Thamen was both powerful and insane enough to declare a much larger war upon this world. That there was a chance he would lose every person here, and his island paradise would fall. It's semblance of peace was neither absolute nor eternal, and could be shattered and torn asunder by steel and magic.

Sinbad just had to tell himself he would not let that happen. But yet, he was telling himself that very thing more and more.

On that night, the night he had killed Ithnan and absolved the mark that foul man had left on his body and soul, Sinbad had excused himself. Fingers running over the ever cooling silvery cuff on his wrist, he retired to his rooms alone. He frowned, knowing too well that bracelet serving as Focalor's metallic vessel seemed so much drained of its power and light. The djinn had been adamant for his king to use him, to help him. Even so, he currently feared for the worst.

Cautiously, and perhaps even fearfully, he caught sight of his reflection as he locked his heavy doors behind him. Looking back at that full length mirror, he paused before reaching up. Sinbad allowed the bandages concealing so much of his face and chest to unfurl and fall away, striking soundlessly against the marble floor in their discarded ribbons.

He was very much himself again. Perhaps that was why, after all this time, he barely recognised himself. once those strips and cloth had left his face and he had re-laced his robes, he noticed his skin was no longer stained of that dark blood of Ithnan's which had stained him. That the dark fire and sheen of black in one of his ambers eyes was no longer there. For all intents and purposes, it seemed he was back to normal. Even if he didn't really feel like it.

Somewhat reproachfully, he looked down from his handsome reflection to the bracelet and its failing warmth. Shadows seemed to dance over its surface, and for a moment he panicked before running a thumb over it. "...Can you really handle all this?"

As if in response to his enquiry and his touch, Sinbad felt the stifling night air within his bedroom chill suddenly. Much like the frozen squalls within Focalor's dungeon all those years ago, the sensation of winter washed over him. Even if right now, it was almost pleasant. He closed his eyes, his nose catching the appeal of a familiar and musky scent and felt relieved. Focalor was alright, and had responded. Perhaps more so than expected, as he knew that person was currently standing behind him, watching him. "...How can you be here?"

"I actually have no idea..." Focalor's voice reached him, and so much like his own. "I heard you, wanted to be here and just was. Perhaps it's the power of all that black magoi I drew away from you. With enough magic, a djinn can be brought to this world after all. Hm..." he trailed off, as if not fully convinced of what he said. Yet, he was willing and reckless enough to appear anyway.

"Trust you not to be worried about such a thing."

"I'm in your bedroom. Why would I be worried?" Focalor asked with a slight laugh. Sinbad felt that chill from his words cling to the back of his neck, and felt wonderful with the warmth of that night. His fingers, as if chilled and charged by a perpetual storm gushing within him, were running curiously up Sinbad's arms as if to memorise him. He leaned back, feeling Focalor's body press against his and draw his arms round him. "Really though...you've gotten so paranoid, little Sin. Didn't I tell you to equip me and go after that creepy old bastard? What's to worry about?"

"You know why I'm worried. Sure we killed him, but it's always something with those people. I wonder what absorbing all this will do to you."

"Ah...right. I have no idea; it just seemed a good plan."

"...Trust you to be so casual over this."

"Exactly. Trust me," he replied. His fingertips were smoothing smooth and cold circles over the thin white robes covering Sinbad's body, and curious at how his king's body responded in spite of himself at the contact. At how the man in his arms was too proud to lean back in his arms, despite his body prickling and growing heated at the soft chill granted to his skin. "Doing that took a lot out of me sure, but who cares? If I get to be here and see you, I'd do it again."

"Not the best attitude..." Sinbad murmured. Nails ran lightly up to his throat, causing his body to finally betray himself. He leaned back, feeling the djinn's arms hungrily envelop him as if drawing him into the eye of a storm. He kept his eyes closed, and now within that man's grasp he felt his fingertips run down from his throat. They danced softly like autumn rain over his collar bone, smoothing over his shoulders as he leaned forward. "...What are you doing, Focalor?"

"You're...actually pretty aroused right now. How cute..." Sinbad opened his eyes, his eyes set on Focalor's expression who in turn was watching them. Leaning into his shoulder, Focalor indicated the two small, erect buds poking through the thin white material covering Sinbad's chest. Before he could respond, the djinn brought his hands over them, enjoying the sharp gasp escaping from the man in his arms as his thumbs pressed at them slightly.

"...Stop that," Sinbad commanded a little weakly, and fell back against him. A suggestion of coldness flooded in, as Focalor's thumbs slowly circling his nipples through his robes. He moaned softly, feeling his body tingle from the touch and leaned back to plant a soft kiss on the djinn's lips. The two gazed at each other a long moment, Sinbad reaching to smooth over the fingers beginning to play and pinch over his sensitive skin to harden it further. Sinbad felt the heat rise in his face as Focalor took to rolling the silken nubs tenderly between his sharpened, claw like nails. "Focalor..."

"You're blushing..."

Sinbad glared, pushing his hands away and clearing his throat and tried to ignore the somewhat stiff and growingly uncomfortable sensation in the lower part of his body. He cleared his throat, ignoring the hands returning to stroke over his body despite his actions to stop them. "So...now I faced them, will you tell me? You are from Alma-Toran, aren't you?" Admittedly, Focalor seemed more interested in the attempts of Sinbad to deny his body's excitement than some rumour. "Are you listening?"

"...No. I'm a little preoccupied right now, I'm sorry."

"...This is important," Sinbad narrowed his eyes, turning to watch the djinn smile at him. Those eyes, including the third one which seemed to stare though him, seemed to captivate him. It was then he heard that all too familiar ripping of soft cloth and the light pressure of an expert nail trailing slowly down his torso.

"If I answer that, it means confirming things one way or another," the djinn told him. He allowed the ripped robes to fall from him, and returned to touch over his now naked body as if entranced by it. a hand gripped Sinbad's throat, pulling him back into a rough kiss. He made a slight sound of surprise, aware of the fact he should be resisting this more. "Even if I was from there, is it so interesting?"

"Yes," Sinbad admitted. He was, at this point, seeing where this was going. The moment he thought of fighting that controlling hold, he watched the various magical chains adorning the djinn's body come free. Darkened and almost tarnished, they softly coiled down Sinbad's body to wrap themselves around his chest and arms. "You...might have some advice on how to deal with them."

"I told you to equip me, which was good advice I thought," Focalor pondered. As if to make way for the chains now crossing tightly over Sinbad's chest and winding tightly around his wrists to draw them together, the djinn reached up. he set to unfastening the various chains and amulets Sinbad wore, and sent them clattering to the ground in a muted song of metal and marble. "Sin, you're doing just fine. If I were from Alma-Toran, and they defeated me, how would that help you? Telling someone you were beaten is...pretty much the opposite of saying something useful."

"Exactly. It would tell me what not to do."

That vision of red, somewhat mingled in an appearance much like his own and that mysterious, vermillion bird of prey pauses. His hand moved, as if to fasten the chains binding Sinbad into place and smoothed over them thoughtfully. "I see. That's actually a little insulting, to be honest."

Sinbad nodded. He watched the chains brighten a little from where they lay upon him, as if stimulated by the magoi in his body. As if whatever of that darkness still residing within him was being drawn out of him, and into Focalor. He hasn't even been aware there was any left. Far from struggling, he allowed himself to relax as he was bound tightly. "I didn't mean it that way. But I want to stop them. Ideally without you getting involved too much."

Focalor laughed at that. "Not get involved? Then why did you go and disturb the nests in my dungeon to start with. Still...trust you to be greedy enough to want to destroy them all."

"People like that shouldn't exist. That's all there is to it."

"Hm..." the djinn looked over at the dark look in the king's eyes, as if loving and despising it in equal measure. "If you _really_ want to make it up to me though..." Sinbad shuddered as the chains slowly moved to coil around his legs. Ever brightening, and with the melody of magoi now humming within them, he felt them wrap round him to press back against Focalor's body. Focalor's somewhat equally aroused body now rubbing against him as if to show what he meant.

"...This again," he sighed, and felt Focalor's hands bring up a chain to coil around his neck. it fixed effortlessly into a golden, seamless metallic collar. Grinning triumphantly, the djinn tugged experimentally over what seemed to be a leash as if to prove he had won. He then tugged Sinbad forward, so he pressed against the mirror in front of them.

"Well, I did help you save your country, you know. That deserves a thank you. And drove that darkness from you. So...you owe me, Sin."

"...As I recall, it was you begging me to let you help."

"...Whatever. Like that means anything," as if to prove that, Focalor leaned in to press Sinbad against the mirror. He felt the glass creak and groan over their collective weight and rubbed up heavily against him. "I know you, Sin. You dislike how the world grows ever smaller, and the people in it less honest. You hate how they clamour over themselves to catch your eye, and yourself more that you need to deal with them. How about I give you something a little more familiar, personal?"

Sinbad felt a hand pass over his cheek before, silently, he nodded. Fingers traced down his arms softly as Focalor kissed him again. He felt his chained wrists drawn together, held by one of the djinn's and brought above his head. Focalor held his wrists against the wall above the mirror, and he didn't resist. Then, teasingly, his leash was tugged sharply in other to bend and arch his body forward. Laughing at his expression, Focalor leaned in to bite at the back of his neck possessively as Sinbad looked over his own expression of foreboding.

"its ages since I've taken you," Focalor reminded him unnecessarily. He remembered how it was, being pressed into the seat of that throne whilst his new djinn pounded mercilessly into his body. He shuddered, disliking how part of him felt excited of such a thing. He definitely wasn't the sort of man who enjoyed being dominated, after all. "Equipping me isn't the same as being inside you..."

Sinbad sighed. "One day, I will get you back for this."

"I wonder..." his fingers travelled over his body, allegedly testing the chains were to his liking one last time. " But then I bet you want to replenish all the magoi I spent helping you."

He resigned himself to nod, and relax in a somewhat uncomfortable and compromised position; bent over against a mirror, body in chains with Focalor readying himself at the king's back. Those coils of metal slipped and massaged over his slicked, heated body as if alive. He had almost relaxed, but then gave a short, loud cry as what felt to be a finger circling roughly another puckered, tight entrance into his body. His legs quaked, and he tried to shift away. Focalor followed him. "Stop it..."

"Like hell I will. This is a dream come true," Focalor told him, grinning as he did. Resignedly and bound too tightly to escape, Sinbad leaned his forehead on the glass. One finger became two, and he felt the chains restrict and pulse with his rapid heartbeat. He felt his body pulled back to them, easing onto the fingers pressing into his body. He shifted against that hand with sickening obedience, as if welcoming that pressure to enter his body. And liked himself somewhat less for that. "Sin...do you think I'd do anything bad to you?"

He shook his head, stifling a slight cry as the fingers penetrated his body, circling within him as if preparing for something. He felt his body instinctively move to engulf them fully, slipping back and forth until the action became somewhat wetter and easier. He moaned out softly, in enjoyment and felt the hand holding his wrists squeeze them in reassurance.

After several teasing moments of circling and slipping within him those fingers drew back and removed themselves, leaving his pliant body empty and ready for more. Then, following a heavy and somewhat lusty breath, Focalor positioned himself behind the bound man. And without warning, re-entered his body with something hard to pulsate thickly within him.

He bit his tongue to stop himself crying out. After all, Sinbad didn't want to explain this to, well, anyone. As if to help him, he felt Focalor's hand slip over his mouth. Again he was pushed forward as the djinn slowly but somewhat forcefully pressed the whole length of himself inside him. Once again, that vision of red had claimed and conquered his powerful yet pitifully defenceless body.

"See...you're just being stubborn. Look how much you love this..." Focalor purred. Sinbad felt a jewelled thumb press over his lips, before prying them apart and forcing its way in. He moaned out thickly, unable to cry out loudly anymore. Instead he pressed back against him, his wrists struggling against the hand holding them. All the while, he refused to meet his reflection. "I could have you begging for me."

He made a slight sound of defiance, but had little more to do than suck adamantly against the thumb as Focalor thrust within him, pushing him ever more against that damned mirror. He was pressed heavily to him, slicking and soaking his body from within as if he had waited years to take him again. But, then, he had. Sinbad felt his knees give away and slumped forward. Far from relinquishing his control over him, the djinn seemed to enjoy him being somewhat stooped over. However, he released his hands, and Sinbad was forced to press his palms to the cool glass of the mirror to support his weight against the feverish assault behind him.

"...Do you have to be so rough?" he heard how muffled his voice was against the thumb probing within his mouth. Focalor's other hand had returned to tugging on his leash, bending his body further forward. Finally the djinn's hands settled to smooth over his hips, taking control of pulling his king's body back and forth as he wished.

"Of course. You're at your most beautiful this way."

"You say that, yet you're behind me."

"Hence the mirror is nice," Focalor pointed out. "I'm not missing anything. The djinn leaned in to kiss at the back of his neck again. Those trickles of soft, scarlet feathers trickled over Sinbad's shoulders and trailed far down his back, enveloping himself in that musky scent and the sweeter smell of sex. He would have wanted to run his fingers through it, but instead was gripping desperately at the wall as he was being so energetically pounded against that damned mirror. "I just love how submissive you can be with me."

"...Just with you," he admitted, even if part of him resented admitting that much. That thumb continued to probe into his mouth, and he took to enveloping it with his tongue. Focalor gave him a slight murmur of approval, allowing one final suck before drawing it from his mouth.

"I'd be angry if someone else got this with you," somehow, Sinbad didn't see that happening. After all, he knew what he liked. He enjoyed the control of controlling a body to do as he wished. Right now, the djinn he was supposedly mater over had his body helpless and engulfing another man in such away. He moaned as his hot chest was pressed cruelly to the cold glass.

"Stop it..." Sinbad insisted again. He felt that hand leaving his mouth trace down his body. Then that wandering hand seized between his legs, and Focalor's thumb smudged a wet, rapidly cooling line against something sensitive and stiffened between his thighs. He moaned, shaking as the hand cupped round him to stroke back and forth. "Right now...I mean it."

Focalor grinned, thrusting in deeper as Sinbad gasped with enjoyment against that mirror. His other hand now held the king's hip for support. That hand continued to work deftly at him, bringing him further to rapture. He grasped himself at that stiff, swollen part of himself, gasping as he felt that tension well up within him as if about to spill over or explode.

That skin kissed gently, tenderly over his shoulder. Gradually Sinbad gave up on supporting his weight, instead leaning back on Focalor and impaling himself further.

"...You just had to ask," Focalor said. In turn he leaned back, holding out an arm to allow his body to collide with the freezing floor and take Sinbad with him. He was pulled into the djinn's lap. Screaming out again and closing his eyes. "Right...pressing all your weight on me...there...I'm in as deep as I can be..."

"...You," Sinbad glared in warning before crying out again. The kisses pressed to his shoulder were so soft and gentle, as if to lull him. He closed his eyes, rocking against that body penetrating his and pushed aside the hand working at his erection. If anything else. He was taking control of that. even so pressure circling inside him feverishly was too distracting. He gave in to Focalor pushing his hand away, watching the hand kneading over him as the other of Focalor's hands groped over his chest.

"Open your eyes. I want you to watch us," Focalor commanded, and with a glare Sinbad wondered who exactly he was talking to. Whether it was the sustained pressure of the body pressed within him. the heat of the night driven back by that cool touch, or the fact that familiar trembling was beginning to coarse though his body he nodded. He gave a defeated sound, and once again gazed upon a reflection he didn't quite recognise at first.

His eyes met with a bound man who was revelling in his chains, a person of rule held captive and bound by another. Those golden chains shone and decorated his body as if he himself was a trophy, a mere plaything at the whim of another. He narrowed his eyes, for a moment remembering those chains drained his strength to take into Focalor's body. Then he remembered that strength would be returned, his needy body sated and pleasured, and no one would ever know of this. Focalor was doing this for him, even if he knew a lot was just the djinn enjoying this so much.

"That just doesn't look like me..." Sinbad murmured, looking lazily at that look of satisfaction flooding in his eyes. He felt embarrassed, yet Focalor leaned in on his shoulder as if showing him something. As if, even in loving this, reminding his king what a single moment of weakness could cause. But that he was safe with him, and no one else would do this.

"That's the point," the simple reply came. Still rocking with him, Sinbad kept watching himself. He allowed his hands to grip at the ones passing over his body, following them as they teased over the smooth contoured of his soaked and bronzed chest. He prompted those fingers to tease at him, moaning out in enjoyment. He grasped at the smooth outline of Sinbad's hips, pulling him back and forth on him rapidly and Sinbad shakily returned his fingers to playing between his legs. "See...you don't need to fight me."

He nodded, albeit not all that content to surrender himself in such a way in a body repeatedly thrusting and conquering his own. He felt powerless, fully aware of that pressure building within him and the motions within him growing faster and faster. It was controlling, it was rough. It was wonderful. "...I'm not doing this again."

"Sure you are..." Focalor purred, bringing his nails over his bound conquest's hips before pressing Sinbad's body down to meet his again. "And see how beautiful my chains are when they've drawn the last of that darkness from you."

"Yes..." he admitted, looking over them with a slight sigh and admiring them. "I'd just prefer this done another way."

"I don't think you do," Focalor told him. Before Sinbad could reply or object, he shuddered and cried out. It was then that the building tension within him violently erupted. That sweet aroma from Focalor's body orgasmed and filled his own, gushing forth and filling him so much it trickled down his tanned thighs in trickles of pearly white. He shuddered, collapsing back into the feathered arms enveloping him. "You just won't admit it."

Sinbad nodded in spite of himself. Still not completely drawn out of him, Focalor gripped his exhausted body to keep him close. He watched lazily as a clawed hand worked agonisingly slowly between his legs, another hand returning to pinching at his chest. He leaned up, giving his captor a tentative kiss before watching the hands stimulating his spent body. He watched the chains shin, moving with his breathing and nestled into his shoulder. "You're not going to let me go, are you?"

Focalor laughed, shaking his head and nipping gently at his damp shoulder. "No; I've waited years for that."

Sinbad nodded, shifting in his lap as if too drawn into this to really fight it. He knew this was so unlike him, that he shouldn't be comforted by this. That never, usually, would he allow someone to do this to him. Yet his tired body was already craving that contact again and being so helpless and relying on someone so much was comforting.

After all, who else but that blur of lusty vermillion would know Sinbad as well as he knew himself?


End file.
